#do you hear me queue

[arsenicflame]

Bonus round! Do you use a queue tag?

[duketectivecomics]

‘Jason was Duke’s robin’ ‘tim was dukes robin’ YOURE ALL FOOLS

Steph as dukes most formative robin is RIGHT THERE

[thebad-lydrawn-sanses]

Cross: sing animatronic boy sing

Nightmare: *quietly* fuckyou

Cross: OHSHIT

[bonefall]

it is healing to come onto this blog and see basic respect for diasbility after being in other corners of the fandom and reading the words “snowkit could never be a warrior because he wouldnt know what anything is. he wouldnt even know what a clan is because nobody could explain it to him” said in full seriousness

Im..... That statement is so ableist I cannot even imagine the worldview you'd need to have in order to come up with that.

They really think the only way anyone learns anything is through verbal-speaking-words-noises? No one has ever observed something before? Not even once?

This is beyond touching grass, this person just fell out of the fucking Jurassic Period when all they had was ferns and stegosaurs.

I just...

OH YES. I remember my first day of Society Lessons as a hearing person, where the everything was explained to me. Via Audiobook. FIRST they spoke and said, "you are standing on the ground." It was a life changing revelation, and the world began to spin.

But it did not stop.

THEN they said, "there are fingers on your hands." The sensation of flesh and bone crackling into existence is indescribable, but I did not yet know pain, until they told me, "that hurts." I began screaming immediately.

And yet... it continued.

They explained so much. Chairs. Tables. Walls. The sky. Frogs. Ionizing radiation. Breathing. I was told all of it, in one sitting, and only then did I understand. Only when my ears were bursting with normal hearing knowledges, did they begin... my final test.

A strange wall-chair-finger emerged from the sky-of-the-wall, stood on the ground several times, until it was in front of me. A second one came behind it, this one slimmer. The audiobook gave these things names;

Human. Father. Mother. Door. Walking. It was completely impossible to know what these things were until that very moment.

I watch a human dip a hook into water and produce a fish, and I recall my Society Lessons where they called that "fishing." I am decked in the face by a nefarious hooligan, and I have only the audiobook to thank when I know I have been "punched" by a "bad guy." It was only the magic of verbal-speaking-words-noise that made me understand that there are "other people" and that they "do stuff."

Sometimes, even, in "groups."

Before the Society Lessons Audiobook, I knew nothing. I was pure, innocent, uncorrupted by concepts such as "parents" and "door." I am grateful every day that there is no such concept as "being shown things" or "simple logical reasoning" or "looking."

Blessed be those amongst us who escape the horrors of the Society Lessons Audiobook. I pray that you never learn what anything is. Be free! Free as a bird, which also knows nothing and famously cannot learn. 🤗

DEAF/HOH FOLLOWERS I'm losing my mind do you want me to bump a 'Hearing Disabilities Herb Guide' to the top of my priorities? Something you can use to bludgeon whackadoodles like that. This is ridiculous

Obviously not a MEDICINE guide but like; common causes of hearing disability in clan cats. Accommodations for hearing loss vs congenital deafness. Actual difficulties of not having that sense Clan-by-Clan. Debunking of misconceptions like... not being able to learn APPARENTLY.

[euporie-art]

sighhhh more lazy sleepy benbaro

there is a version of this with a bg but it's shit

as usual barok is a nightmare to draw but Albert could never fail me 💝

sorry for clogging the benbaro tag guys theyre in my brayne

headcanons and a doodle under the cut if anyone's curious

-Albert is double jointed, completely unrelated to anything here

-he usually sleeps naked and on his back

-barok is embarrassingly cuddly, he will either lay flat on top of Albert like a very heavy, very muscular blanket, or he'll curl up around him like a cat

-he needs wine or a warm drink to sleep, a record of a soothing orchestral piece, and at least 30 minutes of reading, and only sleeps in his perfectly made bed

-Albert can just pass out anywhere at a moments notice. click and he's out.

-eventually they end up living together and Albert puts on some healthy muscle and weight since he's eating higher quality food

-extremely random headcanon but I think Albert goes blind in his 60s

[solarpunkani]

Y'know someone's probably waxed poetic about this already but it's on my mind so I'm gonna do it again.

When it comes to encouraging people to learn about native plants and habitat and involving themselves and their yards in the wider ecosystem, you gotta meet them where they're at.

And maybe that means they won't go as far into it as you are or would like them to in your wildest dreams. But even small steps count towards the bigger picture and I think we need to appreciate that more.

An example from my own life is my mom and the current gardening project we're working on. We're planning out the garden beds in the front of the yard by the mailbox--my mom's previous plantings for the most part haven't worked out, so I'm taking a crack at it.

I'm a pollinator gardening enthusiast who cares more about attracting as many butterflies bees and hummingbirds as possible than keeping things 'neat' and 'tidy'. However, not only do we live in an HOA neighborhood (though not as intense as some other stories I've heard), but I know my mother--an interior designer who has a deeply vested care for making sure the exterior of the house looks as Nice as possible.

We're still getting a pollinator garden in the front though. How? I'm meeting her where she's at, I'm making some concessions, she's making some concessions, but ultimately we're making something that works for the both of us. She doesn't want the plants too tall and messy? We'll trim them back in fall and winter--the insects can use the backyard garden to nest in. She doesn't want things too wild and bushy and weedy? We'll add a nice mulch to the beds, keep things a bit spaced out until they grow in to their larger sizes. She doesn't know the latin names for the plants I'm asking for, let alone how to pronounce them to ask for them at a garden center? That's fine, I don't know the Latin names for most things anyways, let's just use common names.

Does she care that the garden will attract butterflies and hummingbirds? Not intrinsically--she sees it as more of a bonus, if anything. She just cares about what color everything will be and if it'll be easy to maintain. The fact that they're native plants barely registers as a plus side to her. And honestly? That is fine.

If I approached this problem with a hardheaded attitude on how I wanted it to be just as wild and free as my backyard garden? There wouldn't be any native plants in the front beds. It's not like I didn't teach my mom things, but I didn't lecture her like she was lesser just for not knowing or caring as much about native gardening as I do. And that, ultimately, made her more open to the idea than she would've been if I looked down on her like I've seen too many people do to others.

Not everyone is going to develop a deeply seated care about native plants and Latin names and I don't think it's reasonable to expect that. Meet people where they're at and you just might get a lot more done. Meet people where they're at and you just might find they'll get excited enough to learn more--but if they don't want to learn more, that is fine.

We can't expect everyone on the globe to suddenly become plant experts rattling off Latin names left and right and professionally ID'ing native and invasive plants. In the same way we wouldn't expect everyone to suddenly learn the ins and outs of learning code, or how to synthesize medicines, or how to properly build a house. And that is fine. Because we can lean on those who do know when these things come up.

I lost track of where this was going but. Y'know????

[iruludavare]

@touyatiredforthis || Continued from X

     He had been late coming home. She had waited. Waiting for the sound of his flat's door to hit her ears. Waiting for his usual text. But hours had passed— enough for Serena to so foolishly convince herself that he was okay; that she should simply go to bed, and in the morning, Touya would be by her side and herself caught up in his arms. Aggressive vibrations of the nightstand had woken her, buzzing and leering like an ominous omen. A flurry of limbs had cast off blankets, and she all but fell atop the holo caster as though a second wasted was an unforgivable crime.

     The text never came. But if tragedy had a voice, it was most certainly the same as the one behind that call.

     She hates it here. She hates the glaring lights. She hates that smell, the chairs, the bed he lays in, the footsteps of nurses walking in their direction, the grating of deteriorating wheels, the calculated tones of machinery, the pitying smiles, the wires, the tubes, the walls that inch ever closer in and she hates those floors mopped to a shine whose reflections mock her. It is all the same. In blind haste, she had grabbed the first jacket that stuck out in her vision— one of his, like some cruel, twisted joke set upon her by the world. And she has waited. Serena has sat in that chair, legs curled up against her chest, and hands grasping onto one of Touya's own for hours. Cheeks red and swollen and raw, having not the chance to be dry since that voice hung up.

     It is all the same.

     Or so she had thought, until blurred vision catches an all-too-familiar hand reaching up to her face.

          "Touya?!"

     She had not heard his words. Refused to, believing them to be nothing more than those same sirens perched upon death's shoulder from all those years ago. The same words, honeyed in a different voice they seek to claim. The chair screeches, flung backwards enough to fall upon Serena's spine as she rushes past both the space between and his hand. She cannot touch him. He is lucky enough to talk, after a hit like that. And so the heroine settles for resting her forehead against his chest. Over his heart which pulses beneath and up to meet those beating against her skull like the psalms of some miserable prayer.

          "You—"

     The roof of her throat pinches. Fists ball up that skin-crawling material. And from the depths, a sob escapes, guttural and harrowing and primal. Ripped from clenched lungs like barbed wire. A gentle, melodious voice distorted so that the heroine's very ribcage shudders, and a thunderous rattle catches in the gasps and smaller bawls afterwards.

     "I—! You were...! I-I thought—"

          I thought I lost you, too.

[the-insanity-of-mojiru]

Some art of covers I never finished last year

[midfight-artchive]

[millionsknives]

genuinely these panels are going to make me ugly cry

[persicipen-archive]

you know, i love chatting with you guys through my inbox! i get a boost of motivation to reply as soon as possible, so thank you for hopping in there from time to time 🥺🩷

[musical-chick-13]

Okay for REAL, yell at me and chase me off this site if I'm on here again before the US presidential election to do literally ANYTHING other than post fic.

[the-replay-gone]

satine core

[edge-oftheworld]

help i'm listening to an orchestral arrangement of holiday by green day and i can't deal with it

[tiriusrowan]

HAND OF THE KING

"We are what stands between the North of Westeros and the Reach. We are the Marshalls of the Northmarch. Protectors of the Roseroad. Masters of the Mander. I am Hand of the King. Voice of the throne. I command the king's armies, draft the king's laws, dispense the king's justice. We are Rowans. There are no others. Only us. Our loyalty is not to be questioned and our honor is not to be soiled. We have been chosen by the Gods, time and again to not only serve but protect what is ours. Bow your heads. Let us pray."

[mythvoiced]

@xinxiins | ♥

For a solid moment there, Minho isn't sure if he's being made fun of.

Even after he's being handed a set of napkins - that have seen better days, it seems, and it concerns, making his eyes narrow from suspicion to worry - watching the kid agree to what had very evidently been bullshit on Minho's part, spewed either to lessen the accountability of his daughter or alleviate the tension seeping into his own shoulders, there's a good chance he's suddenly stood before the kind of young adult Soomi would probably praise, for the boldness of their mockery, the courage of their lack of sense for authority.

But the suspicion doesn't fester, even in the silence that stretches around the kid's faltering, the softness of his voice, the way Minho takes the napkins from his extended hand and wipes at the lapels of his coat as if it mattered, as if it wouldn't be easier to just go home with the stain and abandon the coat in the washer along with his dignity.

Minho snorts.

"I wasn't being serious," he interjects softly, somehow not finding the bite in the other, let alone one within himself to offer to the kid. His head tilts, there's an apprehension to his gaze that seems keen on figuring out what the issue here is.

Because there is one.

"It was just an... argument with my daughter," he gesticulates vaguely, unsure of how to reveal the truth without the shame attached to it, the idea that he's failed as a father starting from the moment he'd failed to even show up as one.

He can't blame her.

"I didn't... quite understand that, sorry, but I'm glad she didn't get you," he bundles the napkins into one sorry excuse of their former self, left to find a new home in the inside of the coat he's quickly coming to associate with one of the biggest issues currently changing the trajectory of his life.

Who is this kid?

"Xuān Bǐngjí," he half-asses through the pronunciation with an apologetic smile, trying to inflect it with enough self-deprication and irony to imply his lack of practice with a language clearly not his own isn't intended to come across as malicious.

"All right, Xuān Bǐngjí, I'm Minho, nice to meet you," he extends a hand, waving the bow off with the dismissal of someone who'd rather choke than be given this kind of politeness to.

The next gesturing seems intent on beckoning Xuān Bǐngjí to bring his own hand back into the picture.

"Show me your hand."